


Anxieties

by joufancyhuh



Series: To Know A Vael [18]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Also nobles are RUDE and deserve to be slapped, Anxiety, Discusses sex, Engaged but not yet married, F/M, Look Sebastian is going to have some issues about having sex again for the first time in years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 15:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18781360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/pseuds/joufancyhuh
Summary: Hawke worries about the wedding, Sebastian worries about what comes after.





	Anxieties

**Author's Note:**

> All this started because I wanted to write a small -SMALL- piece about Sebastian's performance anxieties and my Hawke talking about how unimportant the whole sex thing is. And now here we are.

They sleep in separate beds.

It reminds her of Kirkwall, his refusal to share her space, but she misses it and him all the same. Night freckles starlight across the skies and she watches dark clouds pass from inside the oversized windows until her eyes grow too heavy to remain open. While asleep, she dreams of simplicity, of love without strings or stipulations, his arms creating safe haven around her. But Sebastian was never anything but complicated.

They marry in a month.

The ring on her finger sits unfamiliar, and she twists it while she worries about the minuscule details. The wedding planner Sebastian hired takes most of the weight off her, but there's still her own fallacies, like will she remember every noble's name and her dancing, even with her future husband's help, is basic at best, lacking in all rhythm and grace, unfit for people of their station. It feels like a game of pretend; a Princess, her. Bethany dreamed of Princes and crowns, but Kalea only ever sought stability. What would her sister think of her now, planning for a life she never wanted, the one she insisted came only in a storybook?

Those books left out the responsibility in it all, the threat to pull support, to uproot trade agreements. Sebastian stays busy between schmoozing his offended allies and the nobles who play their games to end up on the guest list. _A mage, a commoner, the wedding of the century_. The back end of their whispers strike like whiplashes, the bets taken on how long the marriage will last, the spell she keeps the enchanted Prince under.

_What self-proclaimed Holy Man would willingly give himself to a maleficar?_

_Maybe our Prince isn’t as Holy as he presents._

_What game does he play? Why not simply keep her as a consort? Why go through this motion of marrying her?_

_I heard she’s pregnant and that’s why he’s marrying her._

_He starts his reign by marrying an apostate. We have made a mistake supporting him over his cousin. He will be Starkhaven’s downfall._

Words take their toll on them both, but they refuse to speak on it with each other, some unsaid pact that to talk gives the harsh criticisms life. Instead, they tell of other things: their day, a spotted bird, an overheard joke. They find small respite in each other, always too short-lived before duty pries them apart again. A missed dinner here, a skipped lunch there. He makes time for her at least once a day, even if only a few minutes in a hallway -- her hands folded beneath his, his blue eyes bright with his smile, always an apology and a promise, _sorry, I’ve been so busy_ and _I promise there’ll be more room in my schedule once the wedding’s over._

So she goes to bed alone and she imagines it over, some annoying hurdle to overcome. And she pictures the many nights that follow the wedding, and it’s the only thing that holds her over.

Sebastian pictures it, too, but not as comfort. Instead, he stares at the ceiling with heat radiating down to his toes, sweat pooling in uncomfortable places as he pictures his soon-to-be bride and what comes expected of him as a husband. Waiting until marriage came out of respect to the Maker and Andraste, but it provided him with massive relief, to not worry about it until later. And now, later approached all too soon, and he finds himself still uncertain.

In his morning prayers, he seeks guidance, confidence from the Maker, but receives neither. In Andraste, he seeks answers to his anxiety, calmness or serenity, but hears nothing. With confession, the Revered Mother suggests that this came as punishment for forsaking his original vows, even if he did take new ones. But the Maker brought Kalea back into his life; surely, he wouldn’t then punish his son for sharing that life with her.

His schedule keeps him busy, too occupied to dwell on the building anxiety, but at night, it unravels in his mind like a string of what if scenarios for how it all could go wrong. He knew sex once, almost two decades ago, but now, the intricacies of it baffle and frighten him. What does she expect of him that first night, to act with such proficiency as when they first met? That part of himself, does it even still exist, or did he successfully pray it away? And if he finds it, what if all those other parts of himself resurface with it? Did he truly change, or was that only a falsehood he sold to himself?

And then the sun trickles into his room, despite the drawn curtains, and he finds another night wasted with the constant motion of his mind. Sleep remains elusive most nights, increasing his irritability throughout the days so that he snaps on a noble he entertains in the parlor when the noble criticizes too harshly his relationship with Kalea. The noble scurries off, clearly offended, and Sebastian sinks into a chair, scrubbing both hands down his face and letting his eyes rest in the shadows he creates. _Only a matter of time_ , he tells himself, as if that helps, as if he didn’t ruin an alliance, one that could’ve been swayed to stay.

A tap on the doorframe interrupts his temporary solitude, and he peeks one eye through the slots of his fingers to find Kalea standing there, concern written across her face as she rocks on her feet. “Is this a bad time?”

“No,” he says with a sigh, closing his eyes again and leaning his head back. “No, I…” Where did that sentence go? He lets it trail off, unsure why he started it.

The door closes behind her, and a few seconds later, a weight settles on one leg. She directs him, bringing his head forward to lean against her chest, dragging his arms to circle her waist. A calloused hand rubs circles down his back, and he near collapses into her, exhaustion setting in like the very thought of her didn’t cause it. They linger in the silence, his ears ringing with the steady thump of her heart, reassuring in its lullaby and he drifts off, barely lucid when she kisses the crown of his head. “I saw _our guest_ storming out of the room and thought I’d come and check up on you.”

He jerks a little, just enough to keep him awake. His eyes blink, bringing him back into awareness, into the room with her. His soon-to-be wife. He feels the ring he made her through the layers of his clothes, a petite hard thing that runs with her hand along his back. “I lost my temper,” he mutters, then stifles a yawn against her.

Anyone else would get angry with him, at the loss of an ally when he already had so little, but she laughs, full and robust, chest heaving as she does. Her eyes, warm like the sun on the ground, sparkle with her smile, and she brings both hands up to cup his cheeks, and as he stares at her with his lips pulling back into a grin, he wonders why the idea of talking with her ever unnerved him so. “About time,” she says and brings him forward into a short kiss.

When she moves back, he speaks up. “Can I tell you something?” And he does, he spills out that string of anxiety that wound itself so tightly around his heart that it choked him, robbed him and forced him to forget exactly how much they love each other, why they planned to marry in the first place. She listens, eyes clear as she takes in his confessions and offers no judgments in return. When he finishes, when he admits to his tiredness, to his doubts, his insecurities, her smile returns to her face.

“I wish you told me sooner,” she responds as she cards a hand back through his hair. “But I appreciate you telling me now.” When she slides off his lap, the loss of heat leaves a shiver to curl up his spine. His eyes search for a response, for acceptance, as she makes her way to the middle of the floor to move furniture around, enough to clear a decent space. Then she returns in front of him and holds out a hand. “Dance with me.”

“You hate dancing,” he mutters, skeptical, unsure of her odd response. But the smile remains on her face, and that fact alone gives him hope for a good outcome. He lets her drag him from his chair, and his hands settle all too familiar when he holds her to him.

“Not here,” she says. “Not when it’s with you.”

And they dance to some invisible tune, slow at first, but he loves to make big, sweeping gestures with her and how she laughs when he does, so they speed up then return to their soft swaying. Her head rests against his shoulder, hands intertwined as she holds them close to his chest. And when he gives up hope for any response from her, she kisses the top knuckle of his hand, their hands.

“We don’t have to have sex, you know.”

He frowns, though his heart speeds up in his chest. “But we do. The bedding ceremony-”

“-is bullshit,” she finishes. “It’s outdated. You make the laws, you can do away with it if you want.”

Nothing would make him happier, but he pushed his luck with marrying her. Anything more and the people, or his advisers, might revolt. “Not this one, Pidge.” The idea of his advisers and her brother standing around their bed while they have their first _bedding_ as a married couple sounds less than appealing, but he balked tradition enough. Maybe a few years down the line, he can cut it out, but not now, not so close to the start of his reign.

She sighs then stops swaying, which causes him to stop. Her head raises off his shoulder, lips no longer drawn back in a smile. “Fine. But after? We don’t need to have sex.”

Fire blossoms in his cheeks, and he sees in her eyes that she’s serious. “It’s expected,” he says because he can think of nothing else. What is she proposing?

“No, it’s not.” Her hands release him and she moves back a short distance. “If you’re not comfortable, then I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want to do.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to-”

“Bash,” she pleads, grabbing his chin when he attempts to look away. “Listen, really listen to what I’m saying. It’s okay that you’re not comfortable with it. I’m not marrying you for sex.”

Blood rushes in his ears as he stares at her, eyes wide in disbelief. “But, don’t you …?”

“I can take care of myself.” Her grin returns with a wiggle of her eyebrows, making him laugh. “And hey, maybe one day you’ll be ready. But it’s okay if you never are. I’ll still be here.”

“You…” He trails off again with a shake of his head, his words doing little to account for the relief that washes over him, like all his prayers answered in a single sentence. Instead, he moves in, arms circling her waist as he brings her back in for a soft kiss. His forehead presses to hers, and when the kiss ends, he begins to sway them once more. “I love you.”

Her arms wrap around the back of his neck. “If you really love me, you won’t leave me alone with any important people on our wedding day. Otherwise, I might accidentally start a war.”

“Deal.” He spins her around, her laughter ringing out as she holds onto him tight before he grabs another kiss. That night, he sleeps easier than he has in months; she sees shadows like two lovers dancing in the sky as she closes her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I am personally not a fan of the asexual Sebastian headcanon because asexuality is not a thing to be chosen, but my boy definitely has his issues regarding sex and it should be addressed.


End file.
